


atom bomb baby

by amlev



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fallout 4 AU, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-04 10:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17302835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amlev/pseuds/amlev
Summary: atom bomb babyotherwise known as the tale of the wandering medic who falls in love with a voice on the radio.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my favourite trope: love at the end of the world. Cuz there's nothing more convenient than falling for someone when the world's on fire, right?

_“This is Atomic Beca, and you’re listening to Diamond City Radio.”_

 

That's the new voice on weirdly-timed night shifts keeping Chloe Beale company.

 

Her friends had called her a night owl, an insomniac, back when she was just regular Chloe from Sunshine Tidings. Back before becoming wanderer Chloe, nomad Chloe, solitary, transient Chloe.

 

She always responded that she just likes looking at the stars. She seeks comfort in them every night, knowing they’re the same no matter where she is in the Commonwealth. Diamond City Radio’s the same, too.

 

She finds herself feeling like something’s off, something’s missing on days when she works during the day and doesn’t catch the nighttime radio show. Maybe this is what junkies feel like when they don’t get their Jet.

 

She likes the quiet of the night and likes the cover it affords her if she’s headed out alone to answer a call for medical assistance. If she’s travelling with a caravan, her departure times depend on how far they're going and whether they need to detour to avoid raiders or ghouls or other such horrors now commonplace for the new Chloe Beale.

 

Because the wasteland can give, but it prefers to take away. At least it gives Chloe the radio.

 

Sometimes.

 

Disappointment takes up residence low in Chloe's stomach at the mere mention of travelling out beyond the range of Diamond City Radio.

 

\----------

 

_“For all you stay-up-laters, here's the sweet sounds of Billie Holiday.”_

 

The host’s voice on the radio is so smooth and pretty. It soothes Chloe, calms her racing heart, keeps her sane before she gets caught in a spiral of all the anxieties the wasteland has to offer. Monsters, both literal and figurative.

 

She’d go absolutely nuts if she let herself dwell on the realities of her profession.

 

3AM is a dangerous time, really, for any number of reason. The Raiders come at night, that’s for sure. Those sons of bitches are as close to monsters as people can get. And any number of horribly disfigured, irradiated critters would happily eat her for a midnight snack if given half a chance.

 

She’ll never forget the first time she saw a Radscorpion, She was young, about 13, and she’d snuck out beyond the perimeter with Nicholas. An ominous hissing advanced on her right, the sound rising as it got closer and caused Chloe to turn and completely freeze in place. Her mouth stretched open in a wordless scream, panic rising up and choking her. Five feet long and scuttling toward her at an ungodly pace, shiny black pincers clicking and stinger poised to strike; no amount of adrenaline could’ve moved Chloe in that moment.

 

It had moved Aubrey, though. A quick blast to the head from her double-barrelled shotgun had the yellowy guts of the critter leaking out onto the ground. A disoriented Chloe blinked up at Aubrey through the sun, barely registering Nicholas heaving sideways and vomiting, the contents of his stomach mixing with the Radscorpion’s blood running in rivulets through the dusty grass.

 

“Mind your aim, Nicky, that’s dinner right there,” Aubrey had drawled. She’d clapped him on the back and he’d winced both at the force of it and at the nickname she’d used.

 

Letting her thoughts linger on Aubrey and Nicholas with a small smile, Chloe indulges herself in the memories of her beloved friends for just a little longer. They felt a whole lifetime away, yet not so far at all. Chloe’s stomach twists, a flash of Nicholas’ bloodied face invading her thoughts.

 

3AM was dangerous. Monsters, both ever-present in her surroundings and thriving in her mind.

 

\----------

 

_“That was Bob Crosby’s 'Way Back Home’. Makes me wish I could go back, but that's a no-go what with all the Radscorpions now.”_

 

Chloe wipes harshly at the tears she didn’t know she’d shed with the back of her hand. She wishes she could go back, too. The longing was unbearable on some days. Though Sunshine Tidings held a quieter, more visceral hideousness for her than something as tangible as Radscorpions. A blanket of death permeating into every corner of the settlement, ruining all the things she once loved. But still she sympathizes with Beca.

 

Shuddering at the thought, she turns over in her sleeping bag and sinks into the safe quiet. Nothing but the nightly company of the stars and the girl on the radio and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

 

For some reason, she sleeps better in the weak daylight, turning on the radio just as the greyish pink of morning begins to creep over the horizon. The comfort and safety of the warm sun and usually the presence of other people keeps her demons at bay and lets her rest. At night, she stays awake to keep watch of herself. She is the only one on guard duty of her mind in the dark. Well, maybe her and the radio girl.

 

It’s somehow more intimate, knowing exactly how few listeners must be up at this hour. Like Atomic Beca’s spinning her yarns just for Chloe. Like she’s just got an overly talkative late-night companion keeping her company, bright-eyed and animated and Chloe can’t help but smile into her straw pillow.

 

_“I could recruit the ‘scorps to join my Wandering Wasteland Critter Circus… Stay tuned for tour dates folks, I'm a genius. In the meantime, here's Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On.”_

 

\----------

 

Chloe daydreams. Different versions of the radio announcer flit through her mind, never quite settling on one option.

 

Is she blonde? Tall? She sounds so confident all the time telling her silly stories in an easy, lilting tone. Chloe can practically _hear_ her smirk through the speaker half the time. Her grimacing at her own bad jokes comprises the other half. It’s all very disarming.

 

The late hour and chaotic host make for a different experience every night. Chloe starts to commit certain familiar sounds to memory: the hiss and pop of a Nuka Cola bottle opening in the distant background, the clatter of chopsticks against a ceramic bowl. The vague chewing of the announcer, mumbling with her mouth full.

 

Chloe giggles at the lack of professionalism, the sweet, down-to-earth quality. She hides her smile in her hands, tucked neatly under her head on her pillow. The sweetness makes her feel young again, like Atomic Beca is slowly unravelling all the horrors of the wasteland that had aged Chloe’s soul.

 

She wonders whether the noodles she mentions on-air really are _that_ good. Whether they’d taste better with a bottle of something strong and some good company. Whether Chloe herself qualifies as good company. Maybe once long ago, she would’ve been.

 

She entertains the idea of taking a job that would bring her near Diamond City. Imagines sleeping even one night within the confines of the heavily guarded city walls would be restorative. Peaceful, she reasons. She could use the rest. But the periphery of the city is littered with small Mutant territories, denoted with jagged pieces of steel and rotting bags of meat. Chloe could never go back.

 

Yet the fantasies in her head all end in her bumping into Beca near the noodle stand, or casually walking down the street outside the radio station… she doesn’t even know what it looks like, she’s never been. Hell, she doesn’t know what Beca looks like. But she’d know that voice anywhere.

 

Some days, she chastises herself. Lonely Chloe, silly girl, latching onto a voice on the radio, letting her mood for that night hinge on whether she’d be able to listen to the show or not. Why bother to fall in love, when it would certainly be taken from her somehow? The new Chloe, wanderer Chloe, had no place in her heart for such things.

 

\----------

 

_“Listeners, last week I had the pleasure of going down to the Third Rail and recording the sounds of Goodneighbor’s very own Maaaaaagnolia! Today I bring you the first of five exclusive songs. I met some real characters in that town, but you’ll be glad to know this gal can handle herself.”_

 

Chloe does, in fact, make a mental note.

 

_“And Magnolia had a great set. O-of songs, I mean. Did it get hot in here? Anyway, uh-”_

 

A pause, during which Chloe bites back a laugh and simultaneously tries to quell the whooping feeling in her stomach at the very real possibility that her crush bats for her team. Not that they’d ever meet, of course. The radio is still silent save for the crackle of static. She imagines Beca winces.

 

 _“That was bad. I’m sorry. Uh, here’s ‘Train Train’ on Diamond City Radio!”_  

 

Chloe smiles. Makes another mental note that she seems to be doing that a lot more often.

 

\----------

 

Beca starts creeping into her dreams, looking different every time as Chloe’s muddled, late-night thoughts run rampant. She’s lean and muscly with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She’s short and stocky with a small smile and bright green eyes. She’s tall, dark, and handsome with close-cropped curls framing her face, beaming down at Chloe and offering her hand to dance. (Chloe holds her own hand behind her back sometimes and pretends it’s Beca’s warm skin she feels beneath her fingertips).

 

This imaginary Beca and her smooth voice have crawled under her defenses, right past that mental guard on duty, and taken up residence in her mind and her heart.

 

She wonders how she got to this point.

 

A little bit every day, she supposes, just like any other journey she takes.

 

Chloe’s thoughts sometimes wander further in the quiet of the night. She turns off the radio if she suspects she might have company. She needs to keep an ear out to defend herself in case of trouble, but she misses Beca’s chatter in between songs, the seemingly endless chronicles she seems to spin about everything and nothing.

 

One late night she’s tucked into her trusty sleeping bag while one of the other traders keeps watch, listening to the radio at a low volume when she catches a clue.

 

_“I’ve finally figured out why Diamond City security wears those helmets all the time. I hit my head on the door going into Fallon’s Basement tonight, and I’m half the size of those guards! What gives?”_

 

So, the radio girl is short. Finally, something to go off of.

 

With a fond smile as the jazzy notes of Nat King Cole filter through the speaker, she turns over in her sleeping bag. Visions of a tiny figure perched behind a microphone flit in and out of her dreams. 

 

_"Until tonight, my Commonwealth night owls. This is Atomic Beca, signing off. "_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for the wait! I don't even have any excuses!! I love each and everyone one of you who has even glanced at this fic.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to tumblr users [chloebeale](http://chloebeale.tumblr.com/) and [nopowergirl](http://nopowergirl.tumblr.com/) for caring so much about this concept. Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> Special thanks to my betas [lets-talk-appella](https://lets-talk-appella.tumblr.com/) and [summersailedin](http://summersailedin.tumblr.com/)! <3 
> 
> I also made [a short playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/easterlyview/playlist/127j6rW31s5h3JlRVgx4dA?si=S8gnLkriQEacwoUfCdtQEg) with the songs Atomic Beca plays in Ch1 and Ch2. Enjoy!

It’s so much easier to love from afar. To long for something untouchable from a safe distance, to keep the feelings quarantined to one section of her brain.

 

Easier to fall for a voice on the radio, an intangible thing, something she can love or leave when she needs it, rather than a being made of flesh and blood that could be spilled at any moment in this unforgiving wasteland.

 

A person that could be taken from her in the blink of an eye, just like everyone else.

 

She thinks of Nicholas’ funeral, sparsely attended and impersonal. She’d stood amongst the sparse brush and scrub, toe digging into the dirt in front of her just to distract herself from the wretched sight of his grave. It was numbing. Like she was watching this all unfold through someone else’s eyes.

 

Chloe had been on a supply run with some of the other farmers when it happened. Most of the groups hadn’t arrived back yet.

 

She didn’t even remember where they’d travelled to. Not that Nicholas would ever get the chance to go with them.

 

So were the three extra sacks of scrap aluminum she’d hauled back really worth the price of not saying goodbye?

 

“You couldn’t have known,” Aubrey had whispered softly the night after. Her tears soaking into Chloe’s hair were a reminder she wasn’t the only one who had suffered a loss that night. The whole community would feel it. “How could you have known?”

 

“It’s… not fair,” she’d replied hoarsely. Crestfallen.

 

It never is.

 

She even wishes she could feel Aubrey’s tears in her hair again. Chloe misses her so much. The feeling chokes her up and sits in her throat like the dust at Sunshine Tidings where they spent their days. Where Nicholas spent his last one.

 

There’s no permanence in the Commonwealth, no guarantees. Except death.

 

\----------

 

_“Diamond City stay-up-laters, have I got a tale for you. This morning, I shot a Deathclaw in my pyjamas.”_

 

Beca makes a popping sound with her lips for dramatic effect.

 

(Chloe’s stomach briefly lurches at the thought of Beca in pyjamas. How casual and small she must look, how intimate a sight it must be. She curses herself and tamps it down.)

 

_/How the Deathclaw got in my pyjamas, I’ll never know.”_

 

She waits for a beat, and Chloe wishes Beca could hear her filling the radio silence with her groaning and see her eye roll.

 

 _/Okay now_ that _was a great one. You’d better all be laughing! Tell your friends, that joke’s a freebie on me.”_

 

Chloe’s smile fades slightly and suddenly. Friends.

 

The wasteland gave, and it took.

 

It stole.

 

She tunes out the melodic radio voice, sinking unwillingly into intrusive memories. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, the scratch of her clothes against her sleeping bag keeping her grounded and sane for only a brief moment longer.

 

The flashbacks had gotten easier to manage over the years, though no less vivid; the sharp, quick sounds of gunfire on a backdrop of human shrieks and Mutant bellows. The breaking glass and whoosh of flames going up with every Molotov thrown. The clink of a grenade pin being pulled before the entire ceiling of the back room collapsed right on top of her.

 

She doesn’t even remember falling unconscious, just that she came to under a nook created by several charred slats of flooring held up by a fallen support beam.

 

She does remember digging her way out of the rubble with cracked fingernails and crawling out on bloodied, splintered hands and knees scraped raw.

 

She does remember seeing a severed arm, blackened and burned and sporting Aubrey’s wristwatch. She can still taste the bile burning her throat from when she stumbled and threw up into the corner of the room.

 

Time could numb any wound, really.

 

\----------

 

She takes a job on the east side, travelling down the skeleton of a highway so cracked and crumbled it becomes an obstacle to itself in parts. Diamond City is several hours away, but it’s still the closest she’s been in recent years. Chloe can almost feel the static from the radio pulling her west like a siren song. But she won’t go.

 

She can’t.

 

(She steadfastly shoves her recurring dreams about Beca and the noodle stand to the furthest recesses of her mind.)

 

Besides, the job was too good to pass up: 1000 caps paid up front, and another 1000 after the successful escort of a caravan into Gunner-infested territory. Ten armed traders headed to Quincy needed a medic just in case, and she came highly recommended. Chloe tries not to focus too hard on the circumstances of her life that led her to be so highly skilled at patching up holes in people’s bodies.

 

(Memories of him fuel her, make her fiercely protective and determined to bring even the smallest sunbeam of good into the world, make her shine through irradiated clouds.)

 

At least Gunners would only shoot you full of lead and leave you to bleed out.

 

There are worse ways to die, she supposes.

 

(Like having your innards torn out and shoved into oozing meat bags swinging from the rafters. She’ll never get the stench of Super Mutant territory out of her nostrils.)

 

\----------

 

They all meet in the evening at the main caravan hub: Bunker Hill. The monument strikes an imposing image, lit up by strings of light bulbs and rising into the glittering sky. Previously bustling trade stalls are closing up for the night, but Chloe’s night is just beginning. The portable radio is tucked safely into the side pocket of her backpack, antenna collapsed and stowed for travel. Travelling by night only afforded them the best possible cover.

 

They'll reach Quincy by first light, if all goes well. If it doesn't, Chloe will be making full use of the Stimpaks and medkits in her bag.

 

The leader of the caravan lets her keep the radio on. Worst case scenario, at least the last thing she'd ever hear would be Atomic Beca.

 

\----------

 

_“Tomorrow in the main square, there’ll be a performance from the infamous travelling theatre troupe and orchestra, Will o’ the Wealth! They’ll be performing Twelfth Night, another one of those weird old plays where they talk funny.”_

 

Ah, Diamond City. The Great Green Jewel. She can't even see the city in the distance for all the tall buildings obscuring her eye line.

 

But she knows it's there. She hears Atomic Beca.

 

It feels like she can hear her even when the radio's off and they're sneaking through a known Raider zone.

 

_Make sure to check above you too, sometimes those suckers like to camp out and take potshots._

 

The little voice in the back of her head seems to have taken on Beca's intonation when it gives her advice nowadays. Consequences of not listening to other human voices for two weeks, she supposes.

 

_Don't look at me, this one's on you, Beale._

 

Her brain even supplies the noodle-chewing noises and the fizz of Nuka Cola too close to an imaginary mic in her ear.

 

Chloe's startled out of her reverie when she hears Beca's voice - the real one - get louder all of a sudden and she whips around to see who was fiddling with her radio. A trader had plucked it from her side pocket and turned the volume up.

 

_"Sombre news tonight folks, I've got another - um - two missing people to report. If anyone has heard from - um - A-Angie Carter…”_

 

A pause, a sniffle, and a slightly steadying breath.

 

_"...or Edie Rivers, contact Nick Valentine's Detective Agency. And as always, please reach out if you have any knowledge about the Institute. We will not let them take our people and fracture our city!"_

 

The other traders drown Atomic Beca out with their own chatter about the good ol’ Wasteland boogeyman: the Institute. The first people to blame when people go missing, or loved ones start acting funny. There have been news reports of people suddenly pointing guns at family members... even worse, reports of people firing.

 

She shudders. Imagine being murdered by your loved one in a world already out to get you.

 

The traders have moved on from the Institute and onto other topics. Like how hot Atomic Beca must be. Chloe grits her teeth and channels the rage boiling up in her ears into jerking the dial up a notch so that Dion & the Belmonts suddenly blare through the speaker to drown out their voices. A few of them look up, alarmed, and Chloe plasters on a grimace she hopes passes for a smile.

 

Men can be so immature sometimes.

 

\----------

 

The closer the caravan gets to the tall, closely-clustered buildings around Diamond City, the more nervous Chloe gets.

 

The anxiety bubbles up inside her at the combination of listening to the radio and knowing how close she is to its source. That nervous, bright energy that makes her palms sweat in anticipation of nothing in particular, because she’s headed south. Not west.  

 

Those first-crush kind of flutters she hasn’t felt for a long, long time.

 

She chalks it up to radiation sickness.

 

\----------

 

_"I hear the Boston Public Library’s been cleared out of Super Mutants.”_

 

Chloe flinches instantly at the mention. She didn’t even realize Atomic Beca’s voice had replaced Bing Crosby’s crooning.

 

 _“If any of you intrepid mercs out there wanna add a more_ ethical _means of money making to your skillset, may I suggest salvaging books? Myrna will now be accepting books at Diamond City Surplus.”_

 

The worn, dog-eared paperback mystery she’d picked up in Goodneighbor suddenly feels heavier in the bottom of her backpack. She wonders how much Myrna would give her for it. She wonders if Beca likes reading, if she stops by Diamond City Surplus and hunts for a new adventure to get lost in.

 

The book feels like it’s burning a hole through her bag.

 

\----------

 

Chloe can vaguely picture it even as they pass it by, never stopping on their journey south. The Great Green Jewel. She wonders what the radio station looks like, how far it is from the infamous noodle stand. She'd seen it from the outside back when Aubrey had - back when she'd been with the others, but she’d never gone inside.

 

Nicholas had never made it to the city either.

 

(They were supposed to move out together after she turned 20. He died a week before her birthday.)

 

And now she is alone. Among the caravan traders, but alone. Just her and the radio every night.

 

\----------

 

This is the longest she’s wandered with company since leaving Sunshine Tidings.

 

After the Quincy run, clocking in at nine bullet holes, three sprained ankles, an arm in a sling and a dislocated knee between the ten of them, she’s exhausted. The adrenaline wears off and the panic settles and tiredness seeps in to take its place in her bones. But nobody died, not on their side anyway.

 

Two of the traders (Arm Sling and Bullet Removal #5) are headed to Diamond City via Milton General Hospital. Her heart beat a little faster when Arm Sling even mentioned those two words. _Diamond City._ A trip to the hospital wouldn’t hurt, she reasons. Images of the carnage she’d witnessed flit through her mind. It wouldn’t hurt to replenish her lost supplies.

 

And along the way to Milton, if she learns about a fledgling initiative to centralize the coordination of caravans on the west side? Like Bunker Hill had done in the east? Is it so bad that she volunteers to be their medic?

 

As if taunting her, Atomic Beca chooses that moment to play _Something’s Gotta Give_.

 

_"Fight, fight it with all of our might_

_Chances are some heavenly star spangled night_

_We'll find out as sure as we live_

_Something's gotta give!”_

 

She’s getting tired of the freelance work; Quincy has solidified that for her. Scouting out the caravan situation in Diamond City… well, she might as well.

 

\----------

 

She ends up, of all places, at this nasty little bar/hotel combo in Diamond City called The Dugout. The only place to rent a room in town. In _Diamond City_. It still hasn’t set in for her yet. Her eyes take in the brightly-lit, lively main square. When’s the last time she saw this many people in one place and not one of them was dead?

 

She wonders how long she can hang around the noodle stand that night without being suspicious. (Chloe Beale isn’t an Institute spy, she’s just a girl with a tiny crush.)

 

But the journey was tiring and not even the heat of the noodles could combat the chill of the night. So now she’s perched at this grubby bar. She’s about to take a sip of Bobrov’s Best Moonshine, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell, when she hears a familiar lilt:

 

“I wouldn’t do that, newcomer.”

 

She swivels sharply on her stool and almost upturns her moonshine, but the stranger catches it. Their hands brush briefly as Chloe reaches to grip the base of the bottle, whether to keep it safe or to strengthen her own resolve, she can’t say.

 

“Not if you still want to wake up tomorrow with your guts on the inside,” the stranger continues, flashing her a smile.

 

Her mind is reeling - she hasn’t even had a drink yet, maybe it’s the heat of the day catching up with her, the exhaustion of her journey - but isn’t that...it’s…It makes _sense_ , because she’s in Diamond City, after all but - this is too soon, they’re not at the noodle stand like she’d daydreamed, no - _planned_ out in her mind -

 

“Let me save you the regret and buy you a beer, doll,” the stranger drawls. She leans an elbow on the counter and grins up at Chloe, easy and toothy and definitely already a couple drinks in.

 

Chloe’s mind has gone very nearly blank. She finds herself lost for words; it’s not the noodle stand, but she’s still being asked out for a drink by -

 

 _Atomic Beca_ , Chloe’s mind supplies.

 

The stranger looks taken aback. “What?” she asks sharply.

 

Chloe feels the blood drain from her face, and then immediately rush back up in a flush. _Was that out loud?_

 

“You’re the, uh, Diamond City Radio... right…?” she trails off hopefully and flashes a tentative smile.  

 

Beca looks like she wants to deny it for one wild moment but thinks better of it. She eases back down onto her elbow propped up on the counter and gives Chloe a once-over, seemingly making her assessment.

 

“You listen to my show?”

 

“Every night,” her response rushes out of her before she can stop it. “I’m kind of a light sleeper -”

 

“You're not part of that Raider gang from up near Tenpines, are you?” Beca cuts her off with an accusatory gesture. “If you're gonna stab me, just _do_ it, I'm not sorry for what I said on-air last week -”

 

Chloe bites her lip to keep from laughing right in this relative stranger’s face.

 

“Slow down, I’m from Sunshine Tidings. Where we don’t just stab people who are trying to sweet-talk us.”

 

The words are out of Chloe’s mouth before she can stop them but… Beca _was_ hitting on her. Right?

 

Beca flushes but her eyes sparkle. It’s all so pretty and that’s the moment Chloe remembers that this is _Beca from the radio._ Her Beca. Well, not hers but…

 

She can’t stop her blush either when Beca has the audacity to smirk.

 

“Only trying? Not succeeding?”

 

Chloe swears she falls hopelessly in love all over again.

 

Beca visibly relaxes and smiles shyly.

 

“I’m not… misreading things, am I?”

 

The hesitation in Beca’s voice is so uncharacteristic, so foreign compared to how Chloe had built her up in her mind. The Commonwealth welcomes all types, but exercising caution was the way to go. So many people coming and going, it’s impossible to know who’s gonna shoot first and ask questions later if you offend their sensibilities.

 

It makes her want to wrap Beca up in her body until they sink into one entity. She doesn’t stop to consider why she wants to protect her so badly.

 

Chloe fingers seek Beca’s hand resting on the bar counter. It’s warm.

 

“I’m Chloe.”

 

“Chloe,” Beca repeats, trying the name out. “That’s pretty.”

 

Chloe melts on the godforsaken spot as the voice of her dreams looks right into her eyes and says her name again. Everything she’d dreamed up in her head was no match for the actual thing. It couldn’t even compare to the real woman looking at her with a small smile and an element of wonderment.

 

“Do you wanna go look at the stars, Chloe?”

 

Sometimes, the wasteland gave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts, if anyone is interested:  
> \- The Commonwealth in the game is a post-apocalyptic Boston area in 2287. Most of the in-game world is modelled on real-world Boston, including Bunker Hill and Quincy.  
> \- Diamond City is Fenway Park, they built a city inside of it. It's called “The Great Green Jewel” because of the giant left-field wall (called the Green Monster irl)  
> \- Stimpaks are these in-game needles that can temporarily mend minor wounds  
> \- The noodle stand in Fallout 4 is an homage to that scene at the beginning of Blade Runner
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3 Come say hi on tumblr [@acabellas](http://acabellas.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come say hi on tumblr @acabellas


End file.
